Harry And Hermione Oneshots
by LegancyZ
Summary: A Compilation Of Harry and Hermione Oneshots
1. Disclaimer

I do not own any of these work, all credit goes to the original writers who will be mentioned.


	2. Completing the Puzzle

Title: Completing the Puzzle

Category: Fluff?

Rating: PG

Spoilers: 1-5. You know, the good ones.

Summary: Harry is bored, and Hermione doesn't know how to help him.

Disclaimer: Not mine. JK Rowling wouldn't think to write something this cute.

"God, I'm bored," Harry complained, practically falling into the chair next to Hermione's.

He'd been bored quite often lately, Hermione mused. When Ron had started spending all his time with Luna, he had taken all of the fun with him, evidently. The boredom had been at its peak over the winter holidays; after Hermione had prodded Harry into completing all of his assignments, he really was left with few options. With half the team gone, there were no Quidditch practices, and Harry was having a very hard time filling the days.

Sometimes, when he would mention his battle against boredom, or when he would wish aloud that Ron was around for a game of chess, or when he would say how he wished it wasn't so cold as he'd like to go for a fly, her heart would sink into her stomach like a lead weight. She felt on those occasions – as she had many times before – that perhaps Harry didn't really like her. Logically, she knew that he must care for her; they couldn't have possibly retained an amiable relationship for over six years if he was merely taking pity on her. But her nagging insecurities didn't listen to logic, and she often wondered if perhaps he was just making a show of being nice, or if he was just using her for the answers to homework assignments as so many had in her childhood…or if, more recently, he was just keeping her around for a girl's knowledge of the female brain.

And she hoped, more than anything else, that she wasn't just a walking textbook to him…because to her, he was so much more than a simple friend.

Through the years, Harry had become her mission in life. She would keep him alive, she would get him through school, and if she could, she would keep him happy. So far, she'd accomplished her foremost goals. She'd saved his life on several occasions and forced him to do his homework and study through unceasing nagging…and if he didn't like it, that was all right, because it was for his own good, and it worked. She feared, however, that her last endeavor was a complete and utter failure.

She'd tried…she'd encouraged him to play Quidditch even though it made it difficult for her to keep him alive, and she'd never protested when he favored playing games with Ron to saving the House-Elves. Now, however, it seemed as though she was more useless than she'd imagined…and she really hated failing.

"Why don't you read?" she suggested.

"Too boring."

"Even fiction?"

"Mmph."

"I could play a game of chess with you."

"That's all right…you're knitting."

"I don't mind." He wouldn't understand, of course.

"What about the House-Elves?"

"This isn't for the House-Elves."

Harry looked a little too curious. "Who is it for, then?"

"Ron," she answered simply. "Christmas present."

"Oh," was his reply. "Well…I wouldn't want to keep you from that."

"I really don't mind, Harry."

"Well…it's just…it's not the same without Ron, you know?"

She couldn't remember ever playing chess with Harry. She should have offered years ago.

"I understand," she said quietly.

When he said nothing more, Hermione turned her attention back to her knitting, carefully sliding each stitch from one needle to the other as she made them. He would have to find his own fun.

"You're getting quite good at that," Harry remarked after several moments.

"Oh, this is just a scarf…it doesn't take much skill…" she said, staring resolutely at her needles.

"Is knitting difficult, then?"

"At first," she replied. "It's hard to get the hang of the needles. But it's not bad after some practice."

A log popped and hissed in the fire, and she heard Harry's chair creak.

"Think you could teach me?"

Hermione glanced over at him. He was twisted in his chair, leaning on the arm of it, his glasses slightly further down his nose than they should have been. Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You want to knit?"

Harry shrugged. "It's something to do, isn't it?"

Hermione smiled. Finally, there was something she could do. "Let me go dig out another set of needles."

As she headed up the stairs, she wondered where Harry's sudden interest in knitting had come from. She knew for sure that he hadn't taken a sudden interest in House-Elf enslavement. The realist in her knew that he was probably bored and nothing more, but something else in her wanted very much for him to want to spend time with her…and that frustrated her to no end because she wasn't exactly sure why she cared what made him happy as long as he was.

Because you're not that selfless, idiot girl, her brain seemed to shout as she reached her room. She ignored it and went to her trunk, digging out a larger pair of needles and leftover yarn.

When she returned to the common room, it was to find Harry with her knitting needles held in front of him, the scarf dangling from them and her ball of yarn on the floor (dangerously close to the fireplace). He was wearing a puzzled, skeptical frown that seemed to say, "How the hell am I supposed to do this?"

Hermione chuckled. "It's really not as complex as it looks."

"What's with all the loops?" he questioned.

"You'll see."

She rescued her yarn from its place by the fire and seated herself next to him.

"First you have to cast-on…er, I'll just do that part for you; it's tricky –"

"I can do it!" Harry protested somewhat defensively. "Just show me how."

Some twenty minutes later, Harry had managed to cast a sufficient amount of stitches onto his needle, although he'd nearly strangled himself with the yarn in the process.

"I'm positively horrid at this, aren't I?" Harry asked, eyeing his work critically.

"Er…well, yes, at the moment," Hermione agreed. She quickly added in a consolatory tone, "But it's only your first row, Harry, don't worry."

Harry held the needle up awkwardly and away from him, as if it were an animal he was afraid would strike. Amused, Hermione moved it from his right hand to his left and handed him the second needle.

"Now, there are two stitches…"

After at least ten demonstrations, Harry began working on his own. Hermione took up her own project once more, trying not to laugh as Harry struggled with the needles, a look of intense concentration upon his face.

"You don't have to keep going just for me," Hermione remarked eventually. "If you're not enjoying yourself –"

"I won't lie and say this is going to be my favorite activity in the world, but I wanted to do something with you, and I am…so I am enjoying myself."

Hermione blushed and smiled uncharacteristically bashfully. "Really?"

Harry shrugged. "Of course. You're my best friend. Just, er, do me a favor and don't tell any of the blokes in the house that you've taught me to knit – I'd never hear the end of it."

Hermione laughed, a feeling of happiness and security that she hadn't known in a long time bubbling up in her chest. "Don't worry. I'll take it to the grave."

Harry's expression turned immediately downcast, and Hermione winced at her insensitivity. "Harry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to remind you –"

"No, no, don't worry, Hermione, I'm fine. Really."

"But I can tell you're upset, Harry…"

Harry shook his head. "Not about that. It's just…the thought of you taking something to the grave…of you going into a grave at all…well, obviously, it's not something I enjoy thinking about."

"Well…I'm glad to hear it."

Harry smiled weakly and turned back to knitting, clearly ready to drop the subject. Hermione didn't challenge that, not knowing what to say to him about it anyway. She was having too much difficulty sorting out her own emotions at the moment; trying to talk about his…well. That was perhaps best put aside for awhile.

Several moments later Harry gave a loud yawn. He grinned sheepishly when she looked over to him. "It's making me a bit sleepy," he confessed.

Hermione sighed, realizing that despite his claim of enjoying himself, she had once again failed to entertain him.

"Harry, you really don't have to humor my knitting. It's all right." She focused her eyes on her work. "I know I'm not as fun to be around as Ron. Really – it's all right."

"…What are you on about?"

"Harry…you've been bored out of your mind since Ron left. I've been trying to help with that, but it's obvious I'm doing a terrible job."

"Hermione…it's not your fault if I'm bored," Harry said with no small amount of puzzlement.

"But if you're bored around me, it means I'm not any fun," she replied, throwing down her knitting. "And if I'm not any fun, what good am I to you?"

"What good are you? Hermione, you've saved my life countless times –"

"With my brains, I know. And I've helped you with your schoolwork and your girl troubles. But someday, you'll be done fighting Voldemort and done with school and you'll finally understand girls well enough not to need help, and then where does that leave us? What more do I have to offer?"

"Wh – Hermione, you're mental. We're not friends because of what you can do for me…I mean, if that's what it's all about, why on earth have you put up with me for so long? There's more to it than that."

Hermione turned in her chair to get a more direct look at him. "But would you really want to spend time with me if you didn't need my help?"

Shaking his head, he came to sit on the arm of her chair. "Believe it or not, I like spending time with you. I like talking to you, and I like watching you knit, and I even like listening to you babble hysterically like you were about to do just a minute ago. I like you just the way you are, Hermione, and I always will."

She was quiet for a moment as his words sunk in and her heart went fluttering about in her chest. Then the battle in her mind came to a rest, a smile spread across her face, and she responded in the way which she was naturally inclined to do. She hugged him, hard.

Harry struggled to stay balanced on the chair as he hugged her back, laughing slightly. "I even like it when you do that, for some odd reason."

Hermione grinned up at him. "I always thought it made you a bit uncomfortable."

"Oh, and you did it anyway? Why, thanks. And it did make me uncomfortable at first…I mean, you were the first person I could remember ever hugging me. Took some getting used to."

Hermione squeezed him harder and pressed her face into his neck. "Remind me to hug you more often."

"I'll be sure to," Harry said, and he did something he'd never done before. He kissed her on the forehead.

"You know, it's a pity you can't talk to girls like you did to me tonight."

"But…you are a girl," Harry said with what she suspected was feigned bemusement.

"Well, I'm glad to know you've exceeded Ron's level of perception," Hermione said with a smirk, "But you know what I mean. The sort of girls you fancy."

"What makes you think you're not the sort of girl I fancy?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Because we're friends, of course."

"Yeah, like friendship's ever stopped anyone before…Ron comes to mind."

Hermione pulled away from him slightly. "Just what are you implying, eh?"

Harry shrugged, a slight blush on his cheeks and his eyes averted. "Nothing. Just that friendship doesn't necessarily keep a bloke from fancying a pretty girl…"

Hermione eyed him carefully, heart pounding. A possibility that she'd never considered before had made its way into her mind, and the more she thought about it, the more it made sense…and the more she liked the idea. "Harry…are you trying to say that you fancy me?"

Harry looked hesitantly at her out the corner of his eye. "That depends."

"On what?" she asked curiously.

"On whether or not you'll still speak to me if I do."

Harry, the bravest boy she'd ever known, looked so adorably nervous in that moment that she couldn't help falling for him a bit more – and fallen she had, as she'd realized in those few seconds since she'd learned what that look in his eye meant, and that it was the thing that she'd been close to grasping for years. It was a part of her feelings for Harry that she'd always felt was missing somewhere, a part of her she'd failed to acknowledge until then…and it completed the puzzle.

"Oh, Harry!"

And then she did something she'd never done before. She kissed him, on the mouth.

He seemed to like it when she did that, too.

The End

All Credits Go to Amethyst Jackson

The link to the page

https/m./u/252097/


	3. How it was meant to be

Written By: Summer Carlisle

Disclaimer: I do not own anything, Summer Carlisle does.

Setting: It's the trio's seventh year, but it's not HBP or DH compatible.

Rating: K

Genre: Unashamedly fluffy romance.

Warnings: Mild swearing.

How it was meant to be

Every look she gave him. Every word she said. He remembered it all. The way he felt about her could be only described as love. Nothing more (if there is an emotion more than love) and nothing less. He was constantly finding more things he adored about her. From the way she walked to how she said his name, he loved everything about her. If only she wasn't dating his best friend.

"Harry, come on, we have practice," the aforementioned best friend called up the steps to the dormitory. Harry got up and went down the stairs, and was met with her and his best friend kissing at the bottom.

"Bloody hell," he said, employing Ron's choicest swear words and pushing between his two best friends.

The pair turned to him with matching glares which Harry pointedly ignored.

"Come on mate, like you said, practice,'' Harry reminded him. Ron kissed Hermione once more and the two boys headed out of the common room. They made their way onto the grounds outside of Hogwarts and to the Quidditch pitch. The rest of the team was already there.

"Sorry we're late, Ron here was too busy snogging to be on time," Harry said, facing his team.

"Yeah cause I was waiting for you to stop primping," Ron shot back. Harry rolled his eyes and mounted his new Thunderbolt. The Thunderbolt was an advanced form of the Firebolt he used to have. The rest of the team had Nimbus 2001's which were somewhat outdated now. Harry was the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and made them practice five, sometimes six times a week. He wasn't going to miss out on winning the Cup this year.

Ron was playing better than ever, as was everyone else but Harry. Dean and Ginny, of course, were playing as brilliantly as ever. Dennis Creevey was the newest team member, joining Dean and Ginny as a chaser. He was doing very well considering it was his first year playing. Peakes and Coote, the beaters, were also improving every day. Harry though wasn't doing so well this practice. All the times he had ever seen his two best friends kissing, cuddling, or likewise, were coming back to him, playing in his head like an endless slideshow that he couldn't stop. The Snitch zoomed past his face several times during that practice and he never caught it. Finally Ginny went out and captured it, then Harry let everyone could go.

Harry sat with Ginny that night at dinner. Normally he would be sitting with Ron and Hermione, but they'd skipped the meal and were in the common room. Harry refused to think about what he knew they would be doing in there, all by themselves. It wasn't a new thing to him though. He'd known they were having sex since their first time. Ron had come back into the boys' dorm grinning from ear to ear. That was in their sixth year. There was an ache in Harry's chest every time he thought about this.

Ron couldn't love her, because Harry did. Harry loved Hermione with every ion of his being and had since they were twelve. They were destined to be together. It was fate. It was as sure as the prophecy that said either Harry or Voldemort had to die in a Final Battle. And that had come true, right?

The Final Battle had taken place over the summer before their seventh year. The Dark Lord had used Death Eaters, Inferi, Giants, Dementors, and many others on his side. Harry had himself, Dumbledore, his best friends, and a slew of Order members and aurors. In the end, The Boy Who Lived defeated He Who Must Not Be Named, but not without severe loss. Lucius Malfoy was one of the first to die. He had broken out of Azkaban and joined the battle. The one person Harry wanted to die most (after Voldemort) was Bellatrix Lestrange, one of the top Death Eaters. She had killed Sirius, the only parental figure Harry had ever really known. Harry himself tried to kill her but she escaped when he was hit from behind with the Cruciatus curse. Arthur Weasley, Tonks, and Kingsley Shacklebolt were among those lost from Harry's side. They'd had a funeral for their dearly departed a few days after the battle on the Hogwarts grounds, and Harry had been there to comfort Hermione as she cried through the ceremonies.

Hermione was sure to realize she didn't love Ron. She had to figure out that Harry was the one she was meant to be with.

These thoughts were broken by Ron suddenly storming into the Great Hall and throwing himself down on the bench next to Harry.

"What's wrong?" he asked Ron.

"None of your bloody business!'' Ron yelled angrily. The whole hall got quiet. Even Dumbledore looked over to see what this was about. A moment later, Professor McGonagall appeared behind them.

"Potter, Weasley, what is this about?" she asked sternly. Ron ignored her and got up to leave. "Mr. Weasley! Get back here at this instant!" He did not respond and simply continued walking. "To my office, Potter." She instructed. Harry got up and followed her.

"What may I ask was that outburst about?" she asked once they were seated at her desk.

"I don't know, Professor," Harry replied honestly. Maybe he and Hermione weren't having sex after all, he thought.

"Mr. Potter, I am sure you are aware that Gryffindor is playing Slytherin for the Quidditch Cup in less than a week," she said, staring at him over the top of her glasses.

"Yes, Professor."

"You know how much I want us to win this, Potter. Weasley's temper could ruin our chances of winning. We must prevent that happening. You must prevent that."

After being interrogated by the professor about Ron and why he might've acted the way he had, Harry managed to escape and get back to the Gryffindor tower. He said the password to the fat lady ("What do you want?" she had screeched. "Wakng me up like this...") and walked into the common room. It was fairly late, and the common room was empty. Looking around, he found Hermione on one of the squashy armchairs in front of the fire, crying.

"Hermione?" he said gently, kneeling down next to the chair. "What's wrong?'' She lifted her head and looked at him. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy and her cheeks were red and tear stained.

"Oh, Harry," she sobbed. "R-Ron and I g-got in a big fight..."

"What about?" he asked, absent mindedly rubbing her back comfortingly.

"Well, we've been sl-sleeping together for a while and today he wanted to but I said no and he was all frustrated about it. So I st-started yelling at him an-and he b-br-broke up with me," she cried. Her tears were falling faster now.

"Oh, Hermione," he said, standing up and pulling her up with him. "I'm sorry." He wrapped his arms around her and she cried into his shirtfront. "It'll be okay," he whispered into her ear. "Everything will be fine, trust me."

God, she is beautiful. Even when she's crying. Not even tears can cloud her gorgeous honey brown eyes, Harry thought. Her head was on his shoulder and her hand rested on his chest. He held her tightly and slowly began pulling her down so they were sitting on the sofa. She resituated some and placed her arms around him. The fire was slowly going out and he noticed she had stopped crying. Harry looked down at her and saw she had fallen asleep in his arms.

For how long had he wished this would happen? Sure, he was genuinely sorry for the couple splitting, but how could he be totally depressed when it caused her to end up falling asleep on him?

Harry woke up early the next morning and at first didn't realize where he was. Then he remembered. Hermione. He opened his eyes. She was leaning into him and he was laying against the sofa's arm rest. The sun was just now rising and it was a Saturday, so none of the other Gryffindors were up yet.

She looked so peaceful when she was asleep, he thought to himself. Or maybe he was talking to himself.

"What?" Hermione asked groggily.

"What, what?" he asked, wondering what had woken her up.

"Didn't you say something?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Uh, it was nothing," Harry replied. Suddenly she started laughing and sat up.

"What's so funny?" he asked, confused.

"Here I was crying because Ron and I broke up due to me not wanting to sleep with him then I go and sleep with you," she said as tears from her laughter gathered in her eyes. Harry didn't exactly see this as funny. Pleasantly ironic? Yes. He smiled at her as she began to calm down.

"Why are you smiling?" she asked him.

Because you're so beautiful. He thought. Or did he say that too? He couldn't tell anymore.

"Really, Harry?" Apparently he had said it. She smiled and didn't wait for an answer. "You know, Ron only ever called me 'hot' or 'sexy'. Beautiful is so much better," she said, absolutely beaming.

"Well, you are beautiful," he said quietly.

"So are you, Harry Potter."

He grimaced at her. She laughed and moved toward him.

"Well, you know what I mean," she said, her voice barely a whisper. He was about to open his mouth to reply but was stopped. Hermione pressed her lips suddenly against his. He pulled her onto his lap, his arms around her waist. She began running her hands through his hair as the kiss deepened. Their lips parted and their tongues met.

This is how it was meant to be, Harry thought. He was sure he hadn't said it this time though since his mouth was already occupied.


	4. I've Got You Under My Skin

I've Got You Under My Skin

A Harry/Hermione FanFic

Written by Lady Darkshine (Meg)

Hermione sat cross-legged on a frilly purple cushion, pulling her feet towards her and holding her wand. In The Room of Requirement, hundreds of cushions surrounded her to create the perfect place to perform spellwork. She watched Harry before her, head cocked sideways with amusement, a smile on her face which she tried to tame.

"It's kind of like this… isn't it?" said Harry, wriggling his wrist in some sort of wonky attempt to poke his eye, "And then…ophilius!"

His wand let out a faint noise that resembled the sound of one of Peeve's raspberries.

Hermione snorted with laughter. Harry glared at her.

"Er… yes. Quite right," said Hermione, beaming graciously, "Just try to, er, keep your arm steady. You are getting the hang of it, though, aren't you?"

Whether this was far from the truth of what was actually happening with Harry's less than perfect attempts, neither noticed nor cared. In fact, Harry smiled happily and put his hands on his hips in a mocking fashion.

"Oh, yes… quite right!" repeated Harry in a high-pitched imitation of her, rocking back and forth on his heels like he'd seen Hermione do countless times.

"Knock it off, Potter, or you you'll find yourself incapable of having children one day," Hermione warned jokingly, "One more time, then?"

Harry chuckled then nodded, raised his wand once more and said in a demanding tone, "Ophilius!"

For a moment it looked as though it worked; a stream of pink light issued from the tip of his wand and it bathed the Room of Requirement in a dazzling glow. Hermione sat up and whooped in excitement, but it was short lived; his wand did another recreation of Peeve's dirty habit then produced a fountain of pink bubbles… surely not the spell it was supposed to do. Harry held his cursed wand at arms length and turned to his right to raise his eyebrows at Hermione, who was holding her knees to her chin, trying hard not to break a rib in her laughter.

"Funny, is it?" he asked her, a smile making its way onto his lips, "Think my inability of learning a simple spell is so laughable, do you?"

Hermione looked at him between the fingers that covered her eyes and nodded.

"And you think you can get away with it, do you?" Harry asked her, waving his wand. The pink bubbles disappeared in an instant and he put the wand on a nearby desk.

Not trusting herself to speak, Hermione let out a squeak as her answer. Not a logical answer, given, but one all the same. Or so she thought.

"Pardon me, Miss?" Harry asked her.

She couldn't stand it… he looked so innocent, getting on his knees and crawling like that towards her, deviousness dancing in his eyes. She uncovered her mouth and let out a tremendous 'HA!' only to cover it again in surprise of how loud she sounded. Instead, she fell backwards onto the cushions and tried to scramble away from the ever approaching 'Boy Who Lived'.

"The itsy bitsy Harry went up Hermione's legs…" Harry sang as he approached her further, leveling with her ankles.

"You're not itsy bitsy, I can assure you thaaaa-AHHHHHHH!" shouted Hermione.

A great weight fell on the cushions next to her and a pair of hands opened fire on all her ticklish spots: her sides, underarms and belly. Harry prodded, poked and meddled with her tender spots, laughing all the while, bending and twisting away from her darting hands. He was like a buoy that bobbed on the surface of a bay as a boat sped by and the waves, which in this case could represent Hermione's hands, whipped out at him, trying fruitlessly to make it topple into the deep depths of the lake. But Harry was not a buoy in the middle of a bay and Hermione was certainly not a wave of water. So feel free to assume that the tables turn here.

"Teach you to mock me, little Miss Perfect," Harry grunted, seizing her arm and tickling the back of her neck, making her squirm helplessly, legs flailing. He snatched her wrist as it darted out at him, but he didn't take into account her other hand, and…

"ARGH!"

They shifted positions, if you will, and Hermione returned fire all over Harry's soft spots as he laughed like she had.

"You know full well that I can tickle with the best of them, 'Mr. I'm-Invincible-So-You-Can't-Touch-This'," cooed Hermione as she straddled him and attacked his sides.

Her fingers worked like a well-oiled machine… that is, a machine that Harry longed to grab and hold on to, assuming that these well-oiled fingers were smaller than most machines. Unless Hermione's fingers were enormous or swollen, of course, then maybe they could be as big as a well oiled machine and Harry could not just grab them. Nevertheless, whether Hermione had well-oiled machine fingers or not, they worked tirelessly to strike terror on poor Harry Potters.

"AHHHHH! AHHH-ha-ha-ha-ha! Hoo, hoo… HEE! Whaaaaaa-HA! No, no, no… STOP! I-I'm gonna get you and-YEEEHOOWIE!"

I'm sure if you looked up 'YEEHOOWIE!' in the dictionary, you'd find zilch between 'yeast' and 'yelk' where the supposed word would appear. This should prove that the 'word' Harry has just spoken is not a word at all.

"Harry, I think the word you have just spoken is not a word at all," said a pleased Hermione, knowing perfectly well that Harry had said this word because she had touched a particularly tender spot on his belly, which clenched on impact.

Eyes streaming and teeth clenched with effort as though he was lifting a very heavy object – like a crate of Hippogriffs or Hagrid's tube of toothpaste –Harry waited for the opportune moment to seek sweet, oh sweet revenge on his poor, unsuspecting victim.

"Ah-HA!" roared Harry as he seized Hermione round the waist and rolled them over while Hermione squealed with surprise and delight.

They shifted positions again, which is quite an embarrassing way to put it, but nonetheless, the tickling persisted and if one had walked by The Room of Requirement, one would hear maniacal laughter coming from the depths of a bare wall. Then perhaps one who had heard maniacal laughter coming from an unknown source, one would run away screaming maniacally to match the maniacal laughter they claimed to have heard. Because the laughter one would hear if one passed The Room of Requirement was, in fact, maniacal. Very.

Hermione couldn't shake him off. Harry was a persistent piece of Stellotape that refused to come off her finger. She tried everything, from threatening to hex him ("I'LL HEX YOU!") and thinking about the possibility of kicking him in the place that would make him squeal ("I'LL KICK YOU IN THE – er… heh, heh…") But an opportunity came… and about time, too. What, oh, what would make Harry stop tickling her without making him squeal? Better yet, what would embarrass the pants off him?

Harry had just moved his vicious, vicious hands from her stomach to her sides just as Hermione jumped at this opportunity. She took in all the air she could manage, and shouted at the top on her lungs-

"MALFOY IN PINK KNICKERS, MALFOY IN PINK KNICKERS!"

Hermione may have well-oiled machine fingers, but Harry didn't. He rusted. His fingers stopped their attack on Fort Hermione and lingered there upon her hips, motionless and corroded. His face turned green like a zucchini, minus the little yellow dots, and he looked like he was going to ralph on his shoes. Luckily, he didn't. He climbed off Hermione and lay sprawled on the ground next to her, a truly and deeply hurt expression on his flushed face.

"I have nothing to say to you."

Then, quite adorably, he crossed his arms over his chest and frowned deeply like a little boy at the market who couldn't get the cookies he wanted. Hermione giggled once she had managed to catch her breath.

"You're too cute," she sighed happily, easing herself on the ground next to him and stretching, "Well, another successful lesson of spellwork completed."

Harry snorted.

"It was hardly successful. We'll just have to try next weekend."

Hermione looked sideways at him, half marveling in the light dancing in his eyes and half wondering what the best route was to have a romantic walk on the grounds of Hogwarts. Harry looked sideways at her too, him half wondering how her face glowed like it did and half wondering if the broom closet in the Charms wing could comfortably fit two people.

They both smiled at each other, both their thoughts entertaining one another.

"Try next weekend?" Hermione repeated. Frankly, neither cared. It would mean another quiet moment like this one. Unless Harry would suggest they'd practice their spellwork in the Charms wing next weekend…

Harry looked back at the ceiling, lazily moving his hand so that it slid into the pocket of Hermione's jeans where he idly played with the material. Hermione extended her arm, pressing it gently against Harry's ear, and he, realizing what she wanted, raised his head a few inches to let her arm slide under where it acted like a pillow. Quite enjoying the warmth this little change of posture brought, Hermione curled her wrist and mindlessly played with his hair. And like a puppy being scratched behind the ears, Harry closed his eyes in content and relaxed considerably. Hermione watched his chest rise and fall more deeply in his slower breaths of air and grinned as she noticed a tiny smile making its way to his lips. Then thinking of something downright quirky and quite bizarre, she looked down at his foot; she thought that if that foot of his started to shake and twitch, she knew there was something wrong. Something doggishly wrong. Ha, ha.

Hermione's eyes lingered on Harry's face a minute longer, taking him in, returning her eyes to the ceiling only because her neck was starting to ache and her eyes began to close. At this opportunity, I will use the phrase 'sleep threatened her'. It does not in any way mean that some old coot in bed sheets and a nametag that says 'Sandman' pulls out his weapon of choice – a butter knife - and yells "HAVE AT YOU!" It simply means that the urge to fall asleep was coming upon Hermione, yet she refused to nod off. Yet any old fool – including a certain bogus Sandman in bed sheets – knows that having sleep threatening you then being surprised all of a sudden can… well, freak anybody out. And when Hermione looked up at the ceiling, she… well, freaked out.

"WHOA!" she gasped, suddenly grasping Harry's arm.

Her eyes were set above them, but I can't very well say that was staring at the ceiling, because there wasn't one. Hermione found herself looking at the night sky. It was like someone had removed the roof over their heads. Billions of stars speckled the sky, some flickering like a beacon of beauty and some streaking across the sky. Dark swirling blues, pinks and purples swam behind the stars like a backdrop of a play, and the brilliant stars were performing at their best. It was a beautiful sight.

In her astonishment, Hermione hadn't realized Harry was looking up too, yet he looked a great deal less surprised than her.

"Beautiful," he said softly, avidly gazing at the expanse of the sky as a shimmering star streaked across it. "I was just thinking about what could make this moment perfect. A night sky… just beautiful."

Hermione nodded in agreement, the initial shock subsiding. Her hands were still gripping at Harry's arm… she used this sly opportunity to its fullest and pulled herself up to him and clung to him more tightly, sighing in content. The sides of their heads touched as they both gazed up, eyes twinkling and smiles on their faces.

It was hard to believe that only minutes ago, Harry and Hermione were busy trying valiantly to stop Harry's accursed wand from making wet raspberries. Neither had a moment like this in their life; neither could remember the last time they were this comfortable. It was made even more so when they heard a faint noise coming up from the window.

Hermione listened hard and realized that it was music. Music. Coming from a few windows over. And a few windows over was the staff quarters… which meant that one of the Professors were playing music in their quarters a few windows over from the Room of Requirement's. Who would have thought?

Harry was listening too.

"That's the kind of music Professor Flitwick listens to all the time," he told Hermione quietly, "He was playing it when he was helping me with an essay once."

"Humm," mumbled Hermione.

She quite liked the music. The horns, the piano, the mellow voice… it was so soothing that her eyelids started to feel heavy again. Still gripping Harry's arm, she curled up into a ball beside him, bringing her knees up to her chin to the perfect lullaby. Her eyes started to fell as heavy as bricks… the warmth Harry's body brought was intoxicating… the way he was brushing the stands of hair away from her face was just so serene. She could tell he was watching her, his nose a few inches from her own, yet her mind was slipping away and even that did not wake her.

But through the blur of exhaustion, she heard another sound… a sound much closer than Professor Flitwick's music. She could hear the every tone and breath of it, the way it was playing off the person's lips. Harry's lips. It took a long moment for Hermione to realize that Harry was humming to the music.

He wasn't humming to words but rather the velvety sounds of a horn and piano. Hermione opened her eyes to a squint and saw his face a few inches from her own… he was lying on his stomach now, his head hovering over hers as he raised his torso on his elbows. He had that mysterious glint in his eyes again.

Hermione was nothing short of intrigued. Harry dripped his head down so that his mouth was very close to her ear… she felt blush creep up to her checks the moment she felt his hot breath on her neck. Then, quite softly, she heard his voice… his hushed singing voice.

"I've got you… under my skin."

Hermione had never heard Harry sing before, but… he wasn't bad! It generally matched the voice of the singing voice in the song, yet because it was Harry's voice, Hermione felt like she hadn't blushed nearly enough in her life and decided to catch up at that moment. She giggled as Harry made the last note of 'skin' tremble in his throat. He raised himself on his hands to look at her again, looking pleased and absolutely rascally. Sitting up completely, he offered her his hand.

"I've got you… deep in the heart of me," he sung with a sly smile.

Hermione giggled again. Was he ever having a go at her blush glands! She took his hand and he raised it to his mouth to kiss it very gently, still gazing at her with deep, enigmatic eyes. It was quite a romantic gesture, thank you very much, and not many chaps would think of such a thing. Certainly, it was surprising, but Hermione found she could do nothing but smile like she hadn't in months. What a cunning grin! What smooth motions! What…was he going to do next? Hermione felt giddy at that very thought.

With his free hand, Harry took Hermione's other hand and tugged her to her feet with him. They stood up together, and the moment Hermione's feet were on solid ground, Harry slid his arm around her waist, pulled her close and - anybody's Grandmother would be snarling in disapproval by now - wriggled his eyebrows.

Hermione let out a yelp of laughter.

"So deep in my heart that you're really a part of me," Harry sung in his silky voice, still grinning like a madman. A short chorus of trumpets sounded during a short pause before the singing voice had returned, so smooth it seemed like it dripped from the instrument. "I've got you… under my skin."

Hermione laughed. Again. I hope you boys are taking notes… then maybe you could serenade your Lady Friend whilst dancing to some music your Professor was playing in their quarters. Just don't forget to ask for a lock on the door in your Room of Requirement like Harry secretly did. Ahhhhhh! Do you see how difficult it is to replicate this perfect moment? You don't have a Room of Requirement, do you? Harry looks pretty dashing right about now, doesn't he?

While she was trying to remember the last time she was acting this silly, Hermione noticed that Harry started moving to the music. While holding Hermione's right hand while his other was on her hip, he lightly shifted his weight from one foot to the other, just swaying for now. Hermione giggled and playfully swayed with him, moving her free hand to the back of his neck and letting it rest there.

"I've tried so not to give in," Harry sang. He briefly took his hand off her waist to move the curls that had fallen across her shoulder very gently without missing a beat. Hermione felt a warm shiver go down her back, feeling the tips of his fingers graze her neck.

"I've said to myself this affair never would go so well."

It was now when Hermione realized why he had uncovered her shoulder… she looked at him and nearly shrieked with laughter. He was puckering his lips, closing one eye and biting the knuckle of his free hand. It took Hermione a moment to realize what he was doing… he was staring at Hermione's neck with mocking apprehension. Hermione felt like she wanted to collapse on the floor with laughter but at the same time wanted to melt on the spot.

Harry fought hard not to smile as he leaned in close to her ear, his eyes still lingering on her bare neck, and sang in her ear, "But why should I try to resist when baby I know so well."

Then, Hermione felt him plant a small kiss on her neck, just below her earlobe. She made a noise that that sounded like it was between a squeak and a squeal the moment his lips grazed her skin. She heard Harry laugh quietly in her ear before he stopped himself and looked back at her, his eyes fiery and mouth twitching as though it took him all he had to stop himself from laughing.

A moment later, he leaned in and sung in a breathy tone, "I've got you… under my skin." He made the last note of 'skin' tremble in his throat once more, going so low that he dipped his head down for exaggeration and to provoke yet another giggle from Hermione.

Good heavens! Good grief! Good golly! At what point in their friendship did Harry decide to grow up and take the path of 'unrivaled-gentleman-that-would-make-the-Hermione-Granger-swoon?' For Hermione was feeling quite lightheaded. In fact, she felt so lightheaded that she forgot who she was. Well, she knew who she was, but her poise changed... she couldn't help it! How could she have missed the gentleman that was steadily growing inside Harry all these years!

So acting quite unlike herself, Hermione wriggled her eyebrows as well. Somewhere in the Muggle suburbs, Mr. Granger looked up from his newspaper, a suddenly disturbed feeling settling over him. He jumps to his feet and yells at the top of his voice "SOMEONE IS MINGLING WITH MY DAUGHTER!"

Harry grinned at her.

"I'd sacrifice everything come what might for the sake of having you near," he sang to her. Hermione removed the hand she had at the back of his neck and cupped his cheek… it nearly distracted him. Nearly.

Hermione had plenty of room for improvement.

"In spite of a warning voice that comes in the night and repeats, repeats in my ear," he sang, tilting his head forwards so their forehead touched. Hermione took this lusty (giggle) opportunity. She gripped his hand that was holding hers and the other that was on her hip and held them out and away from each other. Harry curiously watched as she turned around and leaned into his chest, laying his hands on her belly and tilting her head so far that it rested on his shoulder. She found a look of surprise in his eyes, as well as a grin at the corner of his mouth.

"Don't you know, little fool, you never can win," he sang in more of a whisper this time as they swayed to the music, "Use your mentality, wake up to reality."

As if his mellow voice wasn't enough to set her off, Hermione enjoyed the feeling of his hands where they were. Clearly, he enjoyed it too, for he gripped her tighter and pushed her into him further. But it came as a surprise for him to see what Hermione was going to do next. With her neck still tilted back, she planted small kisses on his jaw line, then just under his chin and on his cheek. Eck gads, she'd better give him a lil' room or she'll feel rather than see his reaction to this modest show of affection!

In fact, he was so distracted by this that he forgot a few lines of the song… his mind was focused on how curvy her neck looked like from his angle.

"But each time I do, just the thought of you makes me stop before I begin," the song continued.

He was even surprising himself… how could he possibly behave the way he was, when such a girl he never looked at this way before was looking at him the way she's never looked at him before? His stomach was in knots… his brain had shifted into overdrive. He fought his hands… unmentioned will it be as to where his hands wanted to go, but nevertheless, he knew he'd never felt anything like this before.

Harry dipped his head low again and let his mouth linger over her neck. After a small moment of shilly-shallying, he pressed his lips to it.

"'Cause I've got you… under my skin," he sung against her skin.

It was time. Time to do something absolutely radical. Time to do something poor ailing Mr. Granger would throw a toaster at his head for. He parted his lips as they were still against her skin, smiled at the small gasp that escaped Hermione… and gently nipped at her with his tongue.

Hermione squealed… what else could she do?

"Harry!" she cried, positively beaming at him.

But before she knew it, the cunning gentleman seized her hand and spun her away from him with a wail of the horn and the clanging of the cymbal. It was a dance number! An instrumental! An opportunity to dance so outrageous that Harry simply had to think she was kidding around! Hermione was quickly thinking up a way to dance and look like she knew what she was doing. Think, girl, think!

Her mind suddenly jammed. She didn't think it was possible, but she stopped her brain from doing what it did best, for she unexpectedly found The Room of Requirement to be upside-down. Harry had slipped his hand under her lower back and dipped her down, controlling her with the grip of her hand, and brought her back up to him, grinning widely all the while. Hermione laughed - she made the mistake that this was a dance rehearsal! Great wizards… she could do anything right about now, and Harry would never wipe the adorable grin from his face!

With the horns ringing and the drums banging all around them, they hooted with laughter together. Hermione spun around Harry, running her hand across his shoulder and he turned to meet her, eyes alight and dancing; then he seized her hands and swung his legs haphazardly as though shaking something sticky off of his shoe. Hermione could barely control herself.

"What's that called?" she asked between giggles.

Harry spun her around again, feet scrambling and mouth biting his lower lip in feign concentration.

"I dunno," he said, "Make up a name!"

Hermione giggled and mimicked his little dance… she finished off by shaking her tush, making Harry roar with laughter. He seized her round the waist and swung her around, laughing at the frantic shrieks of delight Hermione made as she watched the room flash by her in a whirl of colour. Still, she suddenly recognized the absence of the blaring instruments; the smooth voice has returned, louder and livelier than before. Harry set her down with a slight spin, took her hand again and slipped his other around her back. He chuckled as she tried to focus on him, for she was a little disoriented by all the spinning.

"Where are you?" she asked with a giggle, reaching out with her free hand. She felt her hand land firmly on something soft, and the moment her vision returned, she realized that something soft was Harry's face.

Grinning under her hand, he opened his mouth and gently nipped at her finger, making her yelp with laughter and pull her hand away.

The singing voice continued as they swayed slightly to the music, both waiting for their breath to even out after their chaotic routine. Their enormous grins faded and were replaced with silly little smiles as they looked at each other, both enchanted by each other's gleaming eyes. Hermione suddenly felt a touch nervous and she searched for something to say.

"You're not singing," she pointed out quietly. She noticed dimly that her free had had traveled up his back and was now tangled in his hair. He didn't speak at that moment, but just looked at her. They both listened to the music.

"Don't you know little fool, you never can win."

"I don't think I can right now," she told her just as quietly.

"Why not?"

Harry removed his hand from her waist and brought it up to her face. He gently and hesitantly cupped her cheek and grazed the skin under her eye with his thump. He watched with some amusement as Hermione closed her eyes and reopened them very slowly.

"Your eyes… they're distracting," he told her softly as he stroked her cheek as though he had never seen her before. Not like this. "You're so beautiful."

"Why not use your mentality… step up, wake up to reality."

Hermione was sure he could feel the hot blush that was creeping up to her face at his words. She hazily noticed that they had stopped swaying and Harry's other hand had cupped her other cheek. He held her like a precious China doll and she watched him, fascinated.

"N-no one's ever said that to me before. I-I don't know what to say," she murmured. Nearly unconsciously, she draped her other arm over his shoulder and her hands met there. She mindlessly sunk her hands into his hair, running her fingernails up and down his scalp.

"You don't need to say anything," he said yet more quietly. He closed his eyes fore a moment, quietude overtaking him as she ran her fingers through his hair.

"But each time I, just the thought of you makes me stop just before I begin."

Their foreheads were touching and they couldn't remember how they had gotten so close. Hermione could feel Harry's hot breath on her as his hands traced her face. His thumbs grazed over the bridge of her nose, her dimples, and then her lips. She fought back a moan as he let the tips of his thumbs linger there.

Then Harry opened his mouth to speak, but could barely get the words out.

"May I kiss you?" he asked her, but found that before he received an answer, her lips were already on his in a deep, knee-buckling kiss.

Hermione felt something burst deep inside herself; Harry's mind was spinning. The music all around them was growing softer and softer as if it wanted to give the two of them a moment. A moment to discover each other in a whole new light... a moment to take each other in, explore new possibilities. Because they were exploring, believe me…

Right. Back to the story…

It lasted for just a few moments until they stopped and let their lips remain on each other just for an instant. Very slowly, they pulled away and opened their eyes.

Harry and Hermione's faces were a deep shade of red… but they chuckled together.

"That was… that was…" started Harry quietly. He started to grin a very silly grin. "Well, that had'ta be something."

He let Hermione take his wrist and pull him to the ground. He rested his head on her arm and he played with the fabric of her jean pocket. The stars twinkled above them before the curtain of pinks, purples and blues. They were right where they started, staring serenely at the night sky.

But there was something different between them now... something so wonderful that they felt lightheaded. It was silence but understanding every unspoken word. It was the smile that lay hidden in the corner of their lips, without a visible reason or cause. It was the thoughts that there would always be someone near to wake up for. They couldn't describe it… it was just there, like the steady music that was playing. It existed, but they couldn't see it; they could only feel it. What it was they felt, they knew perfectly well: it was love.

They looked sideways at each other and smiled.

"Try next week?" Hermione asked.

"Next week?" Harry repeated, reaching over to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, "Is there any time earlier?"

Hermione giggled and looked back at the sky just as a shooting star passed over them. She watched it for just a short moment until her mouth broke into a huge grin, seeing that Harry was slowly creeping towards her from the corner of her eye.

"You're not going to lick me again, are you?" she asked, laughing and looking at him. She laughed even harder… Harry was wriggling his eyebrows.

"You don't do that nearly enough!" she cried as he lowered his head and kissed her again.

"Yes, I've got you… under my skin."

Till next time.


	5. Note

Hey Guys, I was wondering what times should i update the story, leave your review.


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